


Eins og mig

by Harashan



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Jötunn Loki, Seidr, Sigyn POV, Sigyn is a shield agent, during avengers, most of the avengers are just mentioned, pre avengers moments, she is not aesir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 17:50:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13486647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harashan/pseuds/Harashan
Summary: «I am a monster and a murderer, you stupid midgardian, I've killed my own father and your people, why are you smiling?»[English translation of my own Italian fanfiction]





	Eins og mig

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo... English is not my first language and I know there might be some mistakes, so please, be patient! XD  
> I am actually a Thorki shipper, but I love Sigyn and that's why I wrote a fanfiction about her in the first place (you can find the original Italian version on EFP, btw). -  
> Hope you will like it!^^

 

 

Sigyn had never believed life can change, somehow. She was odd, and that was enough.

Mama and papa would always whisper against her ravened hair: it was like a curse among Nordic people, she had soon found, especially when all your relatives are blonde.

She had always breathed a heavy air at home, for everyone was ready to point at her and to spit venom at any time, thus forcing her to hide in her own room to look for safety among her books -many, many books full of strange symbols and tales that spoke of ancient times, when storms were _alive_ and there were other people _like her_.

 She would devour the stories of Gods and demons page by page, while under her white skin she could see something red pulsing (and it surely was not blood); she knew not where it came from, she was born with it, but she knew well of what it made her capable of.

She was born and raised in Reykjavìk between the ice and the snow and she didn't know the heat of that "summer" people talked about, not properly. She would spend hours curled up on an old armchair, wrapped in a patchwork blanket, just learning the runes and the stories of Thor and Odin, and reading the prophecies of the _Völva_ and the _Lokasenna_. Her dictionary, of course, was always with her.

 Her first boyfriend had named her "blòm", _flower_ : he used to say that one day she would bloom, too, but after a month that nickname had meant nothing, and Sigyn "Blòm" Iwaldidòttir would still hide in the lonely safety of paper and ink.

 She knew many things, yet mama and papa cared more of having a normal daughter than a little genius, so, once she had turned twenty, she had gone away to study what she loved the most, because to say "Hi, I'm Sigyn and I can translate ancient norse like my mother tongue" was better than "Hi, I'm Sigyn and I've left home because my family hates me" -and she had ended up in New York, where you're lucky if you can find some silence at four a.m.

 

She lived in a small flat in Brooklyn, between the 35th and Snyder Ave, she had found a job as a waitress in a pub in the centre of Manhattan (even thanks to her being a "Nordic cute chick", according to her favourite colleague), and she had signed up at university in order to change.

_Completely._

Sometimes she would hide in her room full of posters and shelves and she would look at her hands, trying, with her gaze, to make that _thing_ which run in her veins disappear, though without any success.

It was a part of her, maybe it was what actually defined her, but she wished it didn't exist, because her own disappointed and disenchanted reflection in the mirror was not a price worthy to be paid.

For the rest, she had a pretty plain life and she was fine with it. She woke up, went to university, had lunch, worked and at last she would go home to drink hot chocolate and check her mails.

 

Sometimes, when she went out to throw the trash, she would meet her up-stairs neighbour: his name was Steve Rogers -six foots of tasty American meat and a pair of blue and breath-catching eyes. He was nice, always saying "hi", and he would help her carrying her shopping bags too.

Sigyn liked Steve, not because he was handsome (and he indeed was) but because he was always friendly and nice to her, even when, at first, she could barely understand him and she would answer "Takk" and "Nei" instead of "Thanks" and "No".

 

For two years nothing impressive had happened in her American life, besides that one time her colleague had asked her out for dinner: she was a girl just like the others who came from another country and studied to become someone; she would wonder on the guy she had met on the bus, she would drink lemon tea and she was a member of the "random blushing club".

 She was just someone, yet there was something in her she could not name, and  maybe that was why, on February 15th 2010, a man in black who looked like Agent Smith had knocked at her door, his blue eyes covered with sunglasses even though it was raining cats and dogs.

 

Agent Phil Coulson had affably shook her hand and had politely asked for her permission to come in, even though he had already placed both feet in her flat. He had told her he worked for the "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division", aka S.H.I.E.L.D., and that she _must_ follow him; no explanations, no clues, she just _had to_. He had given her a closed envelop she could "open in the car, if she wished to", and what can you object to a man who has a state permission signed by the president himself to take you.. _where_?

 In the envelop there was a file as thick as that part of her thesis she had just written, and he would have seemed odd in that blue cover with a golden eagle if only she hadn't found her entire life inside, even those events she couldn't remember, plus a "beautiful" photo of her serving at a table.

 Yet, that hadn't scared her as much as the last page, where her "peculiar abilities of telekinesis and elements's manipulation" were reported.

_Bloody Hel!_

And bye bye sweet purposes of normality.

She had leaned against Agent Coulson in order to not faint, as pale as a ghost and with blurry vision, and she had entered one of those huge skyscrapers of Lower Manhattan where other Neos lead by Morpheus's blinded twin were waiting for her... hadn't she felt that bad she would have laughed.

«Well done, Agent Coulson, now, if you don't mind, I want to speak with miss Sigyn alone .» 'Morpheus' had said, and he had neither called her by surname... after all, to pragmatic and not diplomatic men "Iwaldidòttir" must be too long.

 In a blink of an eye she had found herself talking to a man she had never seen but who seemed to know everything about her. Nick Fury had offered to protect her, to pay her studies and, above all, to help her  to dominate that thing in exchange for her enlistment in the strangest agency of the globe.

 «We will need your abilities someday, but now we need your knowledge.» He had said, a tone that admitted no replies, but Sigyn had already made her decision.

 She had signed her contract of employment and finally she had named that red web under her skin, surrendering to what, deep inside, she had always knows.

_Seiðr._

To Nordic men it was "the greatest power", to her it was just a chance to be free.

 

***

«O no, Phil, please! I beg you! You can't just do that!» Even though she wore four inches-high heels, Sigyn was still running after agent Coulson, completely despaired because of what she had just been _ordered_ to do.

It was April 24th 2012, outside birds were twittering and the sun was shining, as if they wanted to laugh at the chaos that had been raging inside of S.H.I.E.L.D. for the last few days: operators, spies, specialists, they had all been going up and down like a swarm of bees, trying to avoid a global catastrophe that could have competed with the best science-fiction films.

After she had spent two years translating ancient texts, and after she had discovered that her neighbour Steve Rogers was actually older than her grandmother and that he _actually_ was Captain America, Sigyn had started to think she had seen everything and that nothing could have surprised her anymore: she was a weird girl between weird people, why did she have to feel out of place? It had been nice to find out she was not the only strange person in the world, after all.

She liked that hectic life, it was thrilling to think she was collaborating for a common good, even though this meant to work the all night for Fury. Phil was her mentor and nightmare and she would address him in case of need. And one night he himself had told her to dust off "Lokasenna and co", because, that time, god had really came on Earth.

And not a random god.

When she had first heard Thor's name, she had almost had an heart attack. When that blond Æsir had kindly kissed her hand, she had seriously risked to collapse  alongside half of her organs.

She had long managed to survive to Doctor Banner and his "green friend" -after all, how could someone not love Bruce?- and even to Barton and Romanoff's cynical combo. She had even learned to find nice both Stark and his overgrown ego (and his unbearable jokes, and his walk which shouted "I'm the king of the world" at every single step...) but to ask her to stay in the same room with the embodiment of her own degree was really too much.

Therefore, when the Thunderer's psychopathic brother had shown up, Sigyn had prayed the whole Nordic Pantheon and she had begged Odin to spare her from meeting him.

Thor after all was a hopeless naive and a pleasant company, but she was scared of Loki even by just watching him through the security cameras -and not because, according to mythology, he had given birth to wolves, horses and demons, nope, but because he seemed to care nothing about being a prisoner. Apparently, he was not touched by the fact he was an ant under a boot.

«Orders from above.» Coulson pointed at the roof with his finger and kept on walking without looking at her, even though he knew well he was compromising her mental health with that order.

Sigyn covered her face with both her hands: «He is my degree, dammit! I can't guard my degree!»  She protested while they were going downstairs: «Fury can't ask me this!»

Coulson run his fingers through his hair, but he didn't answer her.

«You know he gave birth to an horse? With _six_ legs?» She hoped the agent would feel just a bit sorry for her and that he would chose to avoid her that undesired task, yet she hoped in vain. Phil kept on going to -where were they going, by the way?- and it seemed he didn't want to listen to her at all: «I doubt that myth is true.» He said while reading a dossier: «But if you fear for your virtue, just keep calm: he is in a Hulkpoof cell, you will be safe.»

«Don't you care about my mental health?» Sigyn was about to have an attack of nerves.

They stopped in front of a large reinforced door, next of which there was a bright yellow board which shouted "warning", and Phil looked at her with his blue eyes just then: «I'm only following my orders, princess Sissi.» And he stuck the dossier in her hands. 

 _Princess Sissi..._ Sigyn thought of going back and turning Stark -who had given her that ridiculous nickname- in a roast of "genius billionaire playboy philanthropies", yet, terrified and completely resigned, she just sighed and asked for informations about the next sixty minutes.

«Remote babysitting.» Was the only answer, and then she was left alone in a room provided with a mirror glass, together with a crazy sociopath with delusions of grandeur.

Loki was walking around his cell, hands behind his back and a slow pace, as if he wanted to measure every single inch: he was surprisingly calm, as if he felt comfortable in that loneliness, and Sigyn could not find the will to flee neither in his movements nor in his traits or in his royal posture. The God of Mischief seemed almost _happy_ to be there, and that scared her.

She tried to free her chest from anxiety and she slowly moved on, fixing her gaze on the only chair in the room -it was right there, in front of the bridge connecting the floor to the cage- and she felt Loki's electric irises on her neck at every step... what a stupid girl! She had hoped he wouldn't notice her...

Her Seiðr was gurgling like a river.

She wished she were brave enough to rise her gaze and look at her childhood idol, the Liar among liars, the _silvertongue_ , but how much of _that_ Loki was true? Her books had become more unreliable than what she had ever believed.

«Who are you?» His voice was cold and sharp and Sigyn jumped at its sound. She pretended apathy, and, even though she knew well it wouldn't work with a god whio surely knew more than her about lies, she sat, crossed her leg and opened the dossier, opting for Coulson's philosophy: she simply didn't answer.

«I asked you a question.» Loki articulated, and his eyes shone with annoyance.

Sigyn clenched her fingers on the dossier as if it were an anchor, and she swallowed, then she sighed, then she swallowed again... and she hoped the cage was really Hulkproof as Coulson had said, because she didn't know how she would have controlled her Seiðr otherwise -it was twisting like a snake under her skin.

She remembered how, once, she had made a window blow up during a panic attack and how Iwaldi had chased after her all around the house because of that.

She had just broke a vase.

«I could squash you like an annoying bug, if I wished to, you dull girl.» The god's voice was dark and filled with hatred, and he was dangerously coming closer, threatening: he looked like a lion -how could she ever hope to escape him?

And in that moment, perhaps driven by fear, Sigyn rose her gaze on Loki's face for the first time: it was sharp, hollowed, as white as snow; his hair was black as a crow's feathers, and his irises were shining gems.

He was not handsome -Thor was handsome, with his blue eyes and his golden hair; Steve was handsome, with his Greek profile- and he neither was charming -that word suited Stark, not the _lygari q_\- yet there was something in him that captured her, beyond his unusual clothes, beyond his features and his posture, beyond the bloody beast. Just _beyond._

She furrowed her eyebrows while listening to that strange sensation that was calling her and that probably even Loki was feeling, for he had now unclosed his lips and was staring at her.

Sigyn put the dossier on the floor and she rose, even though her mind was shouting that she was a fool, that she had to go back, that it was dangerous, that it was not worth the trouble.

 _What the Hel do you know?_ She sent her integrity away and walked on until she was face to face with the Liar. He was much taller than her, so skinny, so different from the one who still called him "brother", but Sigyn managed to reach his face with her hand, and she put the palm on the glass. Her Seiðr coloured her skin with red and it drew arabesques when it met the invisible wall of the cage.

Loki did the same, surprised, and he tried to touch her fingers with his own: « _Who are you?_ » He asked once again, and Sigyn fixed her eyes in his: they were clear, reflecting a life spent in the shadow, telling about fading hopes and of a broken pride; she found a life born and lived in the lie inside of them, happy memories blurred by rage -she found a child who had never been loved enough. She found her own past, everything that had defined her: disdain, sorrow, the will to have _more_.

Those eyes were too miserable to belong to a criminal.

Green strands of Seiðr were now spreading from Loki's fingers, and Sigyn found out she was smiling a sympathetic smile: « _Eins og þú. 2_»

_Someone like you._

_Does the fact of being a god really matter if I can see my own reflection in your eyes?_

«Like me?» Loki laughed a bitter laugh and he changed his shape under her eyes, becoming the cursed son of a damned race -a skin of ice, and eyes of blood: «How do you dare to compare yourself to Laufeys's son?»

Sigyn looked at the scars on his arms and on his face, she faced his bloody irises, the irises of a monster and a butcher... the irises of a child left to die because he was too small, a shame, a runt. And she felt sympathy more than disgust.

 _«Eins og mig. 3»_ She said.

 _Someone like me_.

Loki narrowed his eyes of plasma: «I am a monster and a murderer, you stupid midgardian, I've killed my own father and your people, why are you smiling?»

And Sigyn found out she was naive enough to mirror herself in blood: «And you? Do you know who _I_ am, Laufeyson?»

_Ék er skrímsli eins og þú. 4_

__

_ *** _

__

«I know you've talked to Loki.»

Thor had stopped her that very night in a desert corridor, and now he was staring at her with the eyes of a child, probably looking for answers that the centuries he had live had never given him.

Sigyn nodded and she fixed the skirt of her uniform.

A dark shadow fell on the Thundering's face: «You believe he's a monster, too, don't you?»

She smiled, then, and she showed him her hand. Under her pale skin the Seiðr was barely visible: « _Eins og mig._ » She answered, and when the god looked at her, confused, she just shrugged: «Am I not a monster, too?»

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1"Liar" in Icelandic  
> 2"Someone like you" in Icelandic  
> 3"Someone like me" in Icelandic  
> 4"I am a monster like you" in Icelandic


End file.
